


Softened Thorns

by thornclaw



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 08:28:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26848957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thornclaw/pseuds/thornclaw
Summary: Carver hates inaction; something must be done--just not in the typical way. Carvistair is new territory for me (who is still pretty new to fic writing), so this may not be much. Inspired by Gremkt's amazing Carvistair fics!
Relationships: Alistair Theirin/Carver, Alistair/Carver Hawke
Comments: 7
Kudos: 9





	Softened Thorns

Carver stirred the embers in the fire and glanced back in the direction of Kirkwall, the billowing smoke that matched the grief and anger in his chest. He thought of his sister’s face as she watched him leave, her chin tilted too high in stubborn pride. _Neither of us wants to be the first to admit we miss each other, even after losing Bethany and Mother_.

He frowned at Alistair, who reached over and rubbed his shoulder. “You know we couldn’t stay. As much as I hate to say it, the Wardens have to stay apolitical. Interfering with the Qunari—"

“Doesn’t make it easier.” Carver grumbled. “Leaving the people who need you.” He fought the prickling in his eyes and looked away from Alistair, embarrassed that he could still be so affected. _Get it together,_ Warden _Carver_.

Alistair was silent for a few moments as the flames crackled, but Carver knew he was thinking from the way he clicked his tongue—something that had always driven him mad until he’d heard Alistair do it. Maybe it depended on the tongue.

“I’m sorry, Carver.” He grabbed his hand gently, intertwining their fingers. Carver’s eyes widened at the touch.

_You’re imagining things. He’s not…_

“Though I will say, if your sister is half the talent you are, Kirkwall might as well disband their city guard.” He grinned as Carver blushed.

“I…” Carver trailed off, unsure what he was trying to say. “How do you do it?”

“Hm?”

“Make me smile. In Kirkwall, even with my family, I so rarely found a reason to. Yet, here with you it’s so simple.”

Alistair laughed bashfully. “Well, I guess I’ve finally found a second talent: killing the occasional darkspawn and making pretty boys smile.”

Carver’s heart stopped, and he turned to look at him. _Tell him_ you _need_ him. “I’m serious, Alistair. For the past few years, I thought something was wrong with me—that I just wasn’t meant to be happy. Even becoming a Warden was proof of my horrible luck.” He shifted closer to Alistair, dipping his head to brush his forehead against the other man’s. “I never realized such shit luck could have gotten me here.”

“And thank the Maker it has.” Alistair whispered, his breath lighting against Carver’s lips as they inched ever closer.

“I’ve just…never felt like I was enough for anyone before.” The words were heavy and sank from his mouth like stones.

Alistair froze, pulling back slowly; his hazel eyes were wet, narrowed with sadness. He seemed at a loss for words, his gaze desperately roaming the other man’s face. “You’ve always been enough, Carver. Every day I am…astounded and entranced by your bravery, your bright heart—”

Carver cut his words off as he kissed Alistair hungrily, needing to feel his warmth in the night chill. Alistair moved to accept him, his legs parting as one of Carver’s slid in between them. Alistair’s fingers tangled in short, dark hair, quick breaths the only break he was willing to take from the pleasure of his mouth. Every thought, every worry melted on their tongues.

Carver finally pulled back, gasping, as he rubbed a hand across his face, hot tears staining his calloused palm. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what that was. I’m fine.” Alistair grabbed his hand before he could move and raised it to his lips, gently kissing his calloused knuckles. Carver looked at him softly, a smile playing on his lips.

Alistair rubbed a thumb along his jaw. “You don’t have to be. Believe it or not, I’ve met much surlier than you—and far less attractive.”

Carver laughed, relaxing into his touch. The Wardens may be a death sentence, but no one had made him feel alive as Alistair did. _I suppose I wouldn't be a Hawke without a hefty dose of irony._


End file.
